Captantes capti sumus
by Chaed
Summary: Bioterrorism brings a boom to black market business. Big money flows to watch big monsters kill. Especially if the prey is Chris Redfield or Jill Valentine, BSAA Elite. pRE5, Chris, Jill, Claire, horror. Wager more than you have to win all you've got.
1. Prologue

**captantes capti sumus**  
><em>we catchers have been caught<em>

**by Chaed**

* * *

><p><span>Prologue<span>

The crimson head drops dead, a half-moon chunk of its face missing, the rest a gross mess of brain matter and muscle tissue.

Chris reloads the Remington. The empty shell falls out. He kicks at it, furious.

Forget defense. There's no reason he has to play the cards close to his chest anymore. It's all-in from here on, nothing left to lose.

He can still hear Claire falling. Calling after her, a ghastly goodbye that follows her into the abyss. Jill stays behind. Says she'll distract the creatures. Tells him that Claire needs him now, alive or not.

Go save her, or bury her.

But he can't find her. Nowhere. She's a prisoner of the darkness and the silence mutes her screams.

The sewer level is a mass grave. And its keeper, the scythe-monster, doesn't respond well to uninvited visitors. It expels him from its realm before he can find his baby sister in the underground tomb.

By the time he makes it back to where he left Jill, Jill is gone.

The only thing she left is a trail of breadcrumbs. A blood map.

So he starts to follow the crimson path, because he knows this language all too well.

_Help me. Hurry._

Before the monsters pick up her trail.

Or before she runs out of blood to paint him a way.

* * *

><p>Up to her ears in sewer water. Blowing air bubbles as she tries to breathe.<p>

Asphyxiation seems the better option if she had the choice.

In the darkness, up in the corner, she searches for the all seeing glass eye and knows her every movement is being watched.

They've selected a fate for her, but they're still anxious to see what she makes of it.

Death can come in many ways and there's are a lot of people with a lot of money who pay to guarantee maximum entertainment.

The water isn't high. Her feet touch. If she stands tall, it comes all the way to her chest, but not more. Still, she prefers to stay in deeper. The sewer stink has saved her life once. She pulls her lucky card in hoping that it will a second time.

It's been a cat-and-mouse game ever since they ran into each other. The roles are unsurprising. She's the mouse.

She can feel her thigh throbbing in the water. It's causing a heavy pain drives tears into her eyes. And blurred vision is the last thing you need if you can barely see your damn hand before your eyes.

She holds her breath.

It's coming.

The telltale click-clack.

As if it's wearing high heels. That's its givaway.

She abandonded the idea with the flashlight a while ago. The thing acts like a beacon for every monster out there, and there are a lot. It's still clipped to her belt, but her impromptu bath probably rendered it unusable.

Panic seizes her.

What if she does survive the click-clack thing and is lost in this darkness because she doesn't have a light to get to the end of the tunnel?

She makes a fist around the object in her hand.

Now's the time to start praying.

She adds in an extra plea for it to be over quick.

One thing she doesn't envy the others for is their way of dying.

She doesn't want to get eaten alive. It's a sick thought to imagine yourself screaming at the top of your voice while somebody's holding your lungs in their hands.

But she doesn't want to huddle in a corner and die of fear either. Some people kick the bucket because they have a heart attack in the dark. It's a pityful way to go. And it doesn't sit well with the audience.

It's very close now. Cloaking itself in darkness, it draws out the tension. Wants the surprise to kill her. She can hear it breathe. It takes quick gulps of air, but not because it's tired – it tries to smell her. The sewer water does a good job at concealing her scent from a distance, but the closer it gets, the more the odor intensifies. Fresh meat has a very sweet base aroma. Add a five inch cut to it and the blood makes it irresistible.

She brings her hands together and a finger closes in around the metal ring.

With one swift movement the safety pin is off the grenade and she throws it right at the darkness, into the click-clack creature's invisible cloak.

She screams, "That's for my brother, you piece of shit!" and then the bomb explodes and the blast submerges her in water.

After she crawls out on the sewer passage she lays flat and starts to cry.

She's alive. She survived.

But so has the monster.

* * *

><p>Jill is a tinkerer. Always has been. As a kid she bent paperclips into lockpicks. In the military she was a survivalist. In STARS they called her the Master of Unlocking.<p>

So many years later, she hasn't lost her touch.

Holed up in the JANITOR room she cuts wires and reprograms circuits. She doesn't know if anyone thought a power box could be turned into a weapon, but whatever gets into its range is going barbeque at the push of a button.

The whole area around her is boobytrapped. She converted the two grenades into mines. They are strategically placed in front of the door. Whoever comes knocking is going to undergo an explosive surprise.

This plan isn't going to hold out forever, of course. Jill knows that. But after everything that happened – with Chris and Claire gone, dead – she needs to regroup. Get on top of the situation. She is in survival mode now. Whatever the military and police haven't taught her, two outbreaks in Raccoon did the job.

Getting emotional means ending up in the grave and Jill is no cat who has nine lives to spare. There will be no reset button if she fucks this up.

There are at least three BOWs she knows about.

The stealth hunter. Whoever designed this version abandoned the bulky design. This one is tall, lean. Very humanoid. It doesn't rip you to death. It skillfully breaks your neck. And whatever its creator saved in muscle mass was added in IQ. Jill has never seen such a tactical BOW. It learns from her mistakes and rarely makes ones of its own.

The Hunter is Jill's biggest concern. It might not know what the word Janitor means, but it will know that the space around the room is dangerous. It won't be stupid enough to run straight into her ambush. But the problem is, if it circumvents her trap, she's going to bite the bullet. Because with only six shells shared between two guns there's no way she can take it out in direct confrontation.

That only leaves the hope that one of the other creatures will catch in her contraptions. The complication with them is the following: they are ceiling crawlers. There's the licker for one. It looks like it's been going heavy on steroids. A terrifying mass of muscle. An inside-out bodybuilder.

Its claws are the size of her forearm and she's seen first hand what damage it can do. And that isn't even the big improvement last year's model was lacking. This one has eyes. A licker with goddamn eyes.

The other beast Jill hasn't glimpsed a good enough look of, but the bulking shadow with its numerous legs is warning enough to make her wary. Since the thing hasn't followed her earlier she's bold enough to assume that it's possibly territorial. Which makes the sewer level impassable. There isn't anything but death down there anyway. And to commit the same mistake twice would be inexcusable. That one of them paid with their life is lesson enough.

Jill freezes.

Outside the room something rattles.

She holds her breath, unmoving. What rattles? She maps a mental picture of the corridor. There's a locked door at the far end. An open storage room to the right, but that's a dead end. Has a monster made it in there? If so, it's a ceiling crawler. Only way it circumvent the mine in the doorway. Then the only thing it needs to do is knock over a shelf, her failsafe and boom goes the licker.

More noise.

It's not the storage room.

If her hearing is right, the sound comes from straight ahead and that can only mean one thing. The row of four chairs aligned in the corridor has been knocked over.

_Something's coming, and it's on a rampage..._

Suddenly silence creeps back in. Whatever it is, it's passed the chairs.

Here comes the moment of truth.

And all hell breaks loose.

* * *

><p><strong>Welcome to world of survival horror. <strong>

**Cheers,  
>Chaed<strong>


	2. Chapter I

Chapter I

They're outside an old factory base. A whole group of them, setting up screens and computers. They're preparing basecamp.

The team that will go in is geared up completely. The members are checking each other's equipment a last time.

He taps the earpiece to activate it.

"Alphas, are you ready to move in?"

"Yessir."

He gives the OK sign and a soldier activates the GPS devices. Six little colored dots blink on the digital map they have of the place.

"We got you on screen. Proceed. Good luck."

The group clink-clanks into formation, weapons checked and ready. Before they enter, they pull their gas masks on.

With Umbrella, you don't take risks. Every facility the company once owned is categorized "abandonded" before the BSAA gets its hands on it. Half of them are not quite as deserted as the government makes believe.

"Captain Redfield?"

He turns to the soldier with the computer. All the dots are in their desired position.

"What?"

"Sir, HQ just put in a call for you."

"What do they want?"

"You're to return to base immediately, sir."

Chris frowns. "On what reasoning?"

"Confidential, sir. I don't know."

He sighs. There's no further information he can squeeze out of this man. "Can you patch me through to HQ, secure line?"

The soldier nods, types something into his computer and points to one of the tents in the back. Chris thanks the man.

When he enters the tent, there's nothing but a phone inside. He picks up the handset and waits for the connection to establish. The signal is good and he asks to be keyed through to Clive O'Brian, his superior and coordinator back at base.

"Chris. I thought you'd call back."

The two of them are not always on a first name basis. This means either very good, or very bad news.

"Great. Then I'm sure you have an answer to the question I'm about to ask," Chris huffs.. If there's one thing he hates, it's being distracted on a mission. These kind of actions have led to people's deaths in the past and he doesn't want to leave his men because someone in HQ can't sort out their paperwork. He knows how important a leader is and he doesn't want to leave his team without one.

"So?"

"I can't tell you over the phone, Chris. A chopper is on its way. Be ready to board when it arrives."

"I'm not leaving without a reason, Clive."

"You will get your reason once you're here. Please prepare and inform your second-in-command about your leave."

The line goes dead.

Chris slams the receiver down and spends the next twenty minutes barking orders at the crew, briefing the guy who will take his place on how and when and why he wants things done. There's threats too, about cutting people's payrolls if they get sloppy and fuck things up. He's a bigwig in the organization. The men know better than taking it as a joke. Nobody dares to object. The most he manages to coax out of them is a nod or a yessir. As soon as the helicopter lands and takes him away, rumor mill works overtime with guesses and bets of what HQ might want of Captain Redfield.

It's definitely the longest one and a half hours of his life. Well, almost. When it comes down to it nothing can ever compare with Arklay. The gun on his nightstand, his refusal to split up teams, hell, even the bill for his shrink. All courtesy of Raccoon City.

And ever since his little trip to Rockfort Island to collect Claire from one of her self organized kamikaze campaigns Chris knows that Arklay can never be put to rest until Albert fucking Wesker finds his grave and stays in it.

This resolution has given birth to the BSAA.

When they land at HQ, he hops off the chopper before it properly touches ground. Some assistants in uniform tell him that he can't do what he's just done – amen to the safety protocol – but Chris is through the door before they finish their tirade.

The BSAA headquarters are set up in a new building. Every floor is identical in layout and he knows it by heart. Right, straight, left, elevator, straight, right, right. At the end of this route is a door that reads "O'Brian" and Chris doesn't bother knocking.

O'Brian is a man well into his fifties, ex-military. He's seen the field, but a bad knee and some problem in his shoulder chain him to his desk at HQ. Some claim this has made him sour. Chris thinks he's always been like this.

Currently, he's on the phone. He sets it down as soon as Chris enters, motions to the chair across the desk.

"Have a seat."

Chris makes it clear that, so far, this has all gone against his will and he's not the least bit cooperative.

"This had better be good, O'Brian. Very good."

The threats bounce off the other man. He's on an even keel. Very hard to bring out of his routine. Somehow reminding Chris of a certain blond captain with a relish for sunglasses, which doesn't make O'Brian shine in his eyes.

The man never wears the BSAA uniform compulsory for stationed employees. It's always a t-shirt with some slogan on it. Today it's 'Same T-Shirt – Different Day'. By the way it looks, he must have kept true to its saying and not changed it a lot recently.

He leans back in his chair, squeaks Chris' nerves away, clears his throat.

"I called Agent Valentine too. She's on her way. I figured you wouldn't wanna do this alone."

The mention of Jill complicates things. They don't usually work together. They're still partners, officially, but they're too good to do the easy jobs as a team. As far as he knows Jill is in some camp, teaching rookies how to keep their head on their shoulders if a BOW wants to take it off.

This unnerves Chris. "Why did you call her? What wouldn't I want to do alone?"

He hates how O'Brian pussyfoots around. What is he trying to prepare him for? Did they get tipped off on Wesker? Is this why Jill has been contacted? There's this inofficial agreement that if anybody gets wind of the former STARS Captain he and Jill are priviledged to track him down first. It's a sort of a personal thing and as two of the Original Eleven, nobody ever dared object.

"Okay. What's the deal? You haul me away from my men, don't tell me anything on the phone. What is it?"

O'Brian squeaks straight in his armchair and Chris can't help but think how that thing could use a good oiling. Eventually he spills the news.

"Terrasave called."

Chris turns white in a matter of nanoseconds. Terrasave translates directly to Claire.

"What happened? Is she alright?"

O'Brian raises his hands in defense. Chris Redfield is very protective of his family and he doesn't want to get in the way.

"I'd rather wait with the full briefing until Valentine arrives." Seems he doesn't want to do this one on one either.

Chris bangs his fist on the table. "You're talking about my sister, man_. _I'll hear it right _now."_

"Watch it, Redfield. Easy." There's a commanding tone to his voice, but he isn't in for picking a fight.

"Your sister was on assignment. A two man job. About a week ago they disappeared. Terrasave hoped they'd solve it on their own. Figures they didn't. They were clever enough to contact us instead of the local authorities. Just so you know, my superiors are against involving you – personal strain, emotional connection, all that. I told them if you ever found out, which you undoubtedly would, you'd set this place on fire and make sure everybody responsible was locked inside."

It sounds like something Chris would take into consideration. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. The news are devastating. His heartbeat quickens, cold sweat settles on his skin.

For once in his life, things don't spiral back to Arklay.


	3. Chapter II

Chapter II

He waits for Jill on the helipad.

She arrives half an hour after he restrained the urge to choke O'Brian to death for handling his sister's disappearance with such nonchalance. But half an hour is a long time and Chris has managed to supress most of the initial shock and clear his mind for the mission outline. Because as long as he keeps thinking of it as just another job, he's fine. As soon as he's thinking of it as his sister's life, he's going crazy.

Jill can't arrive soon enough.

When she steps out of the chopper, he can see on her expression that someone briefed her to a certain degree and he feels a pang of jealousy at the thought that she might know more than him.

"Chris..." she says, breaks off. Can't find the right words. What do you tell someone who just lost their sister? I'm sorry doesn't quite cut it.

He waves her attempts off. He needs her to be his partner now, not his friend. Jill seems to understand, because the sorrow on her face makes place for determination and Chris is glad that they called her. He couldn't imagine doing this with anyone else.

"Come on," he tells her. "O'Brian's waiting."

They're seated in the briefing room five minutes later. Someone organized a beamer, because O'Brian is fighting to connect the thing with his computer. For Chris this is unneeded torture. He keeps glancing at Jill, who sits composed on her chair. He's almost offended by the calmness she displays when it's _his sister _they're talking about here.

O'Brian finally fixes the electronics, dims the lights and they see a picture of Claire's Terrasave file on the wall. He starts going through her details, age, looks, history. As if they don't know that already.

Chris is about to tell him to shut his mouth and just hand over the coordinates when he feels Jill's fingers on his forearm and his head snaps in her direction.

Her eyes tell him what she can't say out loud.

Wait.

A new image replaces Claire. Todd Coffelt, 26, short chestnut hair, lithe build. Claire's partner. Chris doesn't like him on principle.

"Their assignment revolved around _Century Innovations,_ a fairly new company in the field of bioengeneering. After Raccoon City and the Umbrella fiasco every organization that knows how to spell biohazard is sussed out by the government and, since its creation, by Terrasave."

The beamer changes to a photo of Century Innovations building grounds. Apart from the fancy logo there is nothing distinctive about the place. They can be fabricating the end of the world in there, come up with a new pizza flavor or cure cancer. But by the turn of events Claire's job had taken, he dares to rule out the second.

"The plan was to take a tour of the grounds, do some small talk here and there, stalk a few employees down in the labs for some time. The whole thing was estimated to take up three days. When Ms Redfield and Mr Coffelt did not check back on the fifth day, Terrasave began to place calls.

"Century Innovations faxed them the exact times the two spent in their facilities. Obligingly, they also mailed them copies of the security feeds, showing how they left the grounds on the third day after shaking hands with the CEO.

"After that Terrasave drew a blank. The hotel was not checked out of, the rental car not returned."

Chris clenches his jaw. "They never got back to the hotel."

"No."

"What about the car?" Jill cuts in. "Did they find it?"

O'Brian punches a button and the picture changes to that of a map, showing three red circles. One for Century Innovations, one for the Marriott Claire and Coffelt stayed at and a last one for the place the car was found in.

It doesn't take a genius to see how the third isn't in any way connected to the other two. If they didn't mess up the route completely on the last day, then they weren't headed for the hotel when they finished with business.

This leaves only one explanation for Chris. "They must have been trailed. Someone followed them. Kidnapped them."

O'Brian gives him an unapproving glare. "Don't loose your head, Redfield. Let's not conjure up conspiracy theories before we have anything solid."

Chris exchanges a glance with Jill, but instead of the support he hopes for she keeps bombarding him with her silent messages.

Calm down.

Has he missed something or what side is she on now? Aren't they all here to help Claire? What are they waiting for? It isn't a far fetched guess that Claire has been kidnapped. The girl has always been a magnet for trouble and the Redfield genes only seem to enhance this talent. Which is why Chris was so vehemently against her joining the BSAA. Terrasave seemed the best option still. Greenpeace compared to the U.S. Marines. And she still manages to find the single grossly mutated zombie doberman in a truck full of chihuahua puppies.

"Sir, where they found the car – is there anything of interest near by?" Jill asks.

O'Brian all but claps his hands, as if this is the question of the evening.

"Kelly's Bar. That's where they've last been spotted, according to the barman. He remembers a redhead in company."

"Alright. And does he remember anything else about them?"

"No. A redhead in company. According to the report those were his words, no more, no less. That's where the flow of information stops and you're picking up. If there aren't any more questions, your chopper departs as soon as you're ready. I expect periodic reports." He directs the last part at Chris. "And stay in touch. This is no different than any other mission."

He doesn't give them any time to think of questions, and leaves the room. When he's gone, Chris explodes.

"What the hell was that?"

Jill looks guilty. "Chris..."

"No. Don't Chris me. What's wrong, Jill? Were where you in there? Where was my partner? This is my sister _missing_ and you two go about it as if we're dealing with some lost puppy."

Jill puts a hand on her hip and her next words cut him like a knife.

"They didn't want to give you the job."

His resolve shatters. "What do you mean?"

"They called me. Before they called you. Laid out the problem. Said they needed to put a hit on the case, but didn't know who to choose."

"What did you say?" He is afraid of her answer. In a matter of minutes Jill Valentine has morphed from ally to... to neutral. The worst of all. He doesn't know where to place her. "They asked you, right? For recommendations?"

"Yeah. They did."

"So?"

"I said you of course. You should go. It's your sister. But they were unsure if you'd make it. Keep a clear head. They feared you'd be 'emotionally compromised'."

"Emotionally compromised?" Chris repeats. "It's _Claire."_

"I know," Jill says. "That's why I told them that I was sure you could keep it together. Follow the rules. Do it their way. That's why I kept glaring at you throughout this briefing. O'Brian was _this_ close to write you off the mission log."

This hits Chris like a boulder. Jill's behaviour suddenly makes sense and he wants to slap himself for not thinking. That's what Jill's been trying to say all along. Where Claire's involved, Chris' protective instinct takes over. And not always for the better.

"I'm sorry," he says eventually. "Thanks, Jill."

Her expression lightens some. "You got it, partner. Now let's not keep Claire waiting. You heard O'Brian. Our chopper is ready when we are."

–

"Jesus. What could they have done here?"

They stand in front of Kelly's Bar, a ran-down little shag of a business. Even J's back in Raccoon shined in comparison to this place. And Claire has never liked that. Chris can't imagine what has lured her in here. He hopes – for Coffelt's sake – that Coffelt isn't _that_ type of guy.

"Only one way to find out," Jill says and pushes the door open.

They're immediately engulfed in a cloud of smoke that seems to take this place up like a thick fog. Billard, darts, a bar, some tables. Chris counts five people, minus the bartender. For early afternoon the place is pretty busy.

Chris orders them two sodas and they sit down at the bar. The bartender is a big man in his fifties. He surely lifted weights in his youth, but it looks as if he prefers a good meal over a good workout now.

When they're served their drinks, Chris asks him to wait.

"You got a minute?"

The man seizes him up. He nods reluctantly. "It's about that girl?"

"Yeah. Her name's Claire Redfield."

The bartender points to the other guests. "If you wouldn't mind, there's a backroom right across that hallway. Just follow the signs leading to the toilet. I'll be with you in a moment."

Chris and Jill exchange a look, then leave into the appointed direction. There's not a lot of opportunities to get lost. Apart from the toilets, there's only one other door labeled '_staff only'._ The room on the other side is small, packed with a table, some chairs and a tiny freezer. Nobody's inside.

They sit down.

"He knows something," Chris says.

"He might. Or he might just not want two inquisitive strangers pelting him with questions in front of the guests."

"Yeah. Or that. But I got a hunch."

The bartender returns as promised, wipes his hand on his pants before extending it in greeting.

"Sorry," he says. "But people round here hate trouble. And you two don't really look like tame kitties. No offense to the lady."

Jill shakes his hand. "None taken. So you know why we're here?"

"Well, I'm guessing you're not here for the drinks. You're from that company? Terra... something?"

"Terrasave," Chris corrects. "Ms Redfield works for them."

"Yeah. Terrasave's a good place to work, eh? Gets its people out of the shit they get themselves into."

Chris tenses. "Clai- Ms Redfield got into trouble?"

"Curiosity killed the cat, right?" The bartender makes a cutting motion across his throat. He laughs uncomfortably when neither Jill or Chris' expressions hint that they understand lighthearted jokes.

"Sorry," he says and lifts his hands, shrugging. "Listen. I don't need trouble. Not from your Terrasave, not from the local authorities, and certainly not from the guys at CI."

"Central Innovations has something to do with this?" Chris probes. One word from the bartender and they have their confirmation. And then boom, they'll storm the place and get Claire out of whatever shit she found to play in. It's already playing out in Chris' head and he likes what easy way the problems take to be solved.

But the man is far from making a confession.

"Hey. Look. All I know is that this girl and her boyfriend have been hanging around conspicuously often when Mr McNeal and company were here."

"McNeal?" Jill echoes. "As in David McNeal, CEO of Central Innovations?"

The bartender rises to his feet.

"That's as much as I know. Gotta get back to my clients." He turns to leave, but decides for some last words instead.

"People around here don't like trouble. They'll do anything to avoid it."

Chris and Jill pay for their drinks at the bar and leave without further questions.

They have a CEO to interview.


	4. Chapter III

Chapter III

David McNeal is the is the perfect picture of what Jill thinks could go on the cover of the next Forbes magazine. Tall, well-clad and pockets full of money. This is the impression he radiates. Somewhere in his forties, he has worked out all the little details of business talking. This is probably what got him the position of CEO. It is also what makes it very hard for Chris or Jill to see past the mask of a successful businessman for an answer to Claire's sudden disappearance.

"Redfield," Mc Neal muses as Chris introduces himself. "Are you by any chance related to the Ms Redfield who was here on behalf of Terrasave? Husband maybe?"

"Brother," Chris says. "And that's why we're here, Mr McNeal. My sister- Ms Redfield vanished shortly after

her last appointment at Central Innovations. We were hoping you could answer us a few questions."

"Of course, "Mc Neal says, but he says it with just that little too much sympathy that Jill thinks it's an act.

They all have a seat.

Jill starts. "We're trying to piece together Ms Redfield's timetable from her arrival to her disappearance."

"The security department mailed the respective video feeds to Terrasave. Don't you have access to them?"

Jill nods. "We do."

"Well, I'm afraid," Mc Neal shrugs. "That is as much as I'll be able to do for you. To my knowledge Ms Redfield got lost in her free time. And that is beyond Central Innovations' power to monitor."

They have been counting with such an answer.

Chris puts forth the question they came here for.

"Sir, do you happen to know a place called Kelly's Bar?"

Mc Neal is a little taken aback by this. "Yes, I do. The little pub down on Market. But what does this have to do with Central Innovations?"

"Nothing, directly," Jill says. "But this is where we lost Ms Redfield's track. We were hoping you could tell us something about it."

"There's not a lot to tell. It's a small place. Locals mostly. I can't imagine what drove her there."

"Do you frequent the bar yourself?" Chris asks and at the look on McNeal's face quickly adds "If you don't mind the question."

"I do, yes. But its arguable how much my evening activites will help in your investigations."

"Oh, no, sir. Please don't think of it that way. We're just trying to fit every piece we find into the puzzle. Whether it belongs there or not."

"I see. If you have a hammer every problem looks like a nail, right?"

Chris nods. "That's right, sir. Is there anything else you could tell us about Ms Redfield's visit?"

"I fear not. My meeting with her and her partner was brief. A gesture of politeness. I can point you to the staff that was responsible for them, if you want."

"That would be lovely," Jill said.

They interview Brian Troyer from development, Mary Dexter from human resources and Suzanne Spivey from the research department. None of them yield utilizable information.

"It's like that damn bar swallowed up her existence and the only thing it burped up was her car," Chris says as they're taking a bite at the local fast food restaurant. He thinks they're wasting time with food, but Jill has managed to convince him that thinking on an empty stomach isn't going to get them any farther.

"We'll go there tonight," she suggests. "Stake out the place."

"I'd rather issue a tracing on this Mc Neal guy. He knows something."

"Can't do that. Not on absurd ground. If we stalked every CEO of a major company 'who knows something' their lawyers would eat our heads. You know protocol, Chris. Don't give O'Brian a reason to pull us off the job."

Chris waves his hand. "You're right, I know. We play by the rules. It's just... this is Claire. I know what she's capable of. Finding herself the biggest pile of shit to play in and all that. Girl's got too much of that Redfield character than is good for her."

Jill cannot imagine how hard this is for Chris. She is an only child. All her life, the only person she had to take care of has been herself. Chris on the other hand has been brother, mother and father for Claire ever since their parents passed away, and as much as Jill knows, this has been for nearly all their life.

"It's going to be fine," she assures. "Claire's a tough girl."

Chris' brows furrows. "See, that's what worries me."

They backtrack to the hotel after lunch. O'Brian wants his status update and Chris is eager to do a more detailed research on the CEO before they head out to the bar.

"Excuse me, sir!"

The receptionist stops them in their tracks. They walk over and she puts a big envelope on the counter. It contains something more than paper.

"Someone left this for you."

Jill takes the envelope, tears it open.

Chris asks, "Can you remember who left this?"

The clerk shakes her head. "No, sir. A gentleman. He didn't leave a name."

Jill holds up the content of the envelope.

"A cell phone."

They thank the receptionist and hurry to their room. They can ask to review the security feeds of the hotel later.

"Ok," Jill says after she's checked the phone. "This thing is empty. No numbers, no previous calls, no contacts. There is just one message, in the drafts folder."

"What does it say?"

"34 Oakwood Avenue."

Chris powers up the laptop and they find 34 Oakwood Avenue to be a little side street a ten minutes drive away from the hotel. Chris wants to go. Jill is hesitant.

"This spells trap. We should send the phone to HQ first, have them perform a thorough scan on it. They can give us more information."

"Jill. Claire could be in danger."

"And we're not helping her if we run in there like a pair of headless chickens."

They have an argument. Chris is pro and Jill is contra. It's a professional lovers' quarrel that Jill can't win with logic and reason. Chris claims he can feel something's wrong and he insists on this and how he can't abandon family for O'Brian's protocol.

"Give me the phone," he says.

Jill complies. Chris searches for something. He frowns.

"This is odd."

"What?"

"I just checked the time stamp on this draft. It's from today."

"From when today?"

Chris checks his watch, makes the calculation.

"From five hours. Five hours in _the future._ It's 4pm now. This thing's written for 9pm, today."

At nine o'clock sharp Chris and Jill have their rental car parked at the corner of Oakwood and Victoria. Chris plays with some binoculars in the darkness, but 32 Oakwood is just an entrance into a (pretty run down) apartment complex and for the last twenty five minutes nobody's gone in or out.

They wait another half hour. This part of the city seems to be as dead as the graveyard by the church.

"I can't see anyone," Chris says. "Not on the street, not in the house, not on the roofs. If we're being watched-" and they both agree that this is probably the case- "then they're using some small camera I can't make out. I think we should move in."

Jill thinks they don't have a lot of other options if they don't want to lose this clue, so she reluctantly agrees. She's mailed HQ their plan and location so if there's no word back by eleven, they're going to send in support.

They get out of the car and Jill brushes a hand across her jacket, feeling the familiar outline of a gun underneath. They're both armed with a pistol and a knife each and Jill has an additional set of lock picks on her. As they move towards the house they look about them warily, but there's not even an owl watching them on their stroll down Oakwood.

They arrive at the door. It houses twenty different flats. Chris goes through the names, but they're all unfamiliar, until-

"Redfield." He grits his teeth and traces the tag with his finger. "Those fuckers."

"I'm calling for backup," Jill says and grabs for the radio.

"No."

She halts the movement, incredulous. "Excuse me?"

"Don't call them. Yet. They could be keeping her at gunpoint. Or she's not even here. If they're just out for money I don't want a troop of gasmasks to stress them into shooting."

"Chris, this is not a good idea."

But Chris has already pressed the button and the door beeps, disengaging the lock. He enters.

"You come with me or you don't, Jill. O'Brian can wipe his ass with his rules."

She sighs, but steps in after him.

"I don't like this, Chris. I don't think what we're doing is clever."

"Yeah," Chris agrees. "That's why they're not gonna expect it."

The apartment is empty. In the clearest form of the word. The furniture that hangs about is covered by plastic sheets to keep it from the thick layer of dust that's settled above. Nobody's been here in quite some time. Jill pointed this out when she lock-picked them inside, saying the mechanism was quite rusty.

Well, this has gone down like a lead balloon.

"There must be something," Chris insists. "Some kind of clue. Why else would they want us here?"

Jill racks her brains but comes up empty. She doesn't know. She can only think its because someone wants to keep them away from somewhere, but before their spontaneous departure she's made sure that HQ monitors what's going on in the town while they're gone.

"Kelly's Bar. That's it. They wanted us off the grid. Something's going on at Kelly's."

"I told Quint Ketchum to keep an eye on that. He's calling if there's anything unusual. You wanted in here, Chris, so let's turn the place on its head."

They do. While Chris pulls out drawers, Jill frees the rest of the furniture of its plastic jackets. All the wardrobes are empty. An uncomfortable smell starts to settle over the place and Jill connects it to the brittle wood they've just uncovered.

"Shit."

Chris is on his knees, about to unscrew one of the air shafts on the wall. He stops midway, dropping the tool and getting to his feet. There's alarm on his face. He grabs the wall for support, out of balance.

The smell intensifies.

Jill's eyes widen.

They're not dealing with rotten wood.

It's gas.

She crosses the distance to Chris, puts an arm around him for support and tries to hold her breath. Halfway to the door, she stumbles.

Chris is too heavy.

She drops him. He's out.

She covers her mouth, grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him towards the door. They're outside on the corridor when Jill loses her footing and takes a tumble down the stairs. She hits her head, moans, and the lights go out.


End file.
